


Ouroboros

by dandyli0n



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: ? - Freeform, ????????, Bad Writing, Blood, Exsanguination, Fingerpainting, Gratuitous metaphors, Human Sacrifice, I wrote this while kinda delirious I couldn't tell you what's in this, M/M, Occult, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Ritual Sex, Sexual Content, idk man, violence isn't really graphic but I'd rather not trigger anyone so
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-14 07:35:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29663910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dandyli0n/pseuds/dandyli0n
Summary: Changbin has absolute faith in Minho. Minho, his temptation, his apostle, the snake slowly choking the life out of him.
Relationships: Lee Minho | Lee Know/Seo Changbin
Comments: 3
Kudos: 11





	Ouroboros

**Author's Note:**

> idk what this is. YOU won't know what this is.
> 
> PLEASE MIND THE TAGS. IF YOU DON'T LIKE THE TAGS THAT'S OK I'LL SEE YOU NEXT TIME WHEN I DO FLUFF AGAIN. ILY THANKS FOR CLICKING BUT LIKE LEAVE NOW PLEASE.
> 
> A Little Disclaimer: SKZ aren't Satanists ok. like. they may occasionally be temptation itself but any association with Satan is strictly coincidental. also I love both Minho and Changbin idk why I'm making them suffer and do shitty things again either.
> 
> Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. Don't do this at home.
> 
> Enjoy. <3

Changbin breathed in deeply. The air in the room was damp and thick with dust. Every time he moved, he sent another whirlwind of dust bunnies flying everywhere. Goosebumps broke up all over his exposed skin from the cold air around them.

But Minho. He focused on Minho. The room smelled of mildew, but Minho smelled _alive_ , like warm skin and frankincense. It was humid, but Minho’s hands were dry where they held Changbin by the sides of his neck, keeping his head tilted up, keeping their eyes connected.

 _Don’t look away_ , he said before they started. _Keep looking at me. You can’t look away even once._

He was so warm. Burning up, even, his thighs felt like they were searing hot where they rested around Changbin’s hips, his breath like fire where it hit Changbin’s lips where their mouths rested together. Minho was warm on the inside too, and it was setting Changbin’s gut on fire, every silken squeeze around him stealing even more of his already short breath from him.

It was almost like Minho was stealing all the warmth from him. The more Minho rocked and Changbin gasped for breath and shivered with the cold, the hotter the press of his thighs felt, the more fiery his breath felt on Changbin’s face. He was all around him like a white-hot vice, like a snake constricting around him more and more with every fluid motion of his hips. Back and forth. A hot, blissful drag. Minho’s dry palms like snakeskin rubbing against his skin as they skated down his chest, nails of his thumbs digging into his Adam’s apple as they went.

Seeking the warmth he was missing, he wrapped his arms around Minho’s waist, pulled him closer. It made their lips brush together - Minho’s were as soft as the rest of him; garnet red and full with blood that Changbin in a fit of passion wanted nothing more than to taste on his tongue. He wanted to sink his teeth into Minho’s velvet bottom lip, connect them there too, just as violently and sweetly, just as unnaturally above as they were below. It would be like finishing a circle, like taking a moment and dragging it out eternally. He would give and receive, be fed on and feed.

When he dropped his eyes to his prey, though, he felt a burning grip on his face again, forcing him to look back up.

“My eyes, Changbin. Look into my eyes.”

The second he met them again, he forgot all about Minho’s lips. He forgot about the cold. For a second, he forgot everything.

Minho’s eyes were terrifying. Always were, but in the dim of the room they seemed darker then ever. Empty yet deep. Twin abysses so alluring that the only reason Changbin hadn’t dove into either of them was that he couldn’t figure out which one to lose himself in first. The world faded when he looked into those eyes, but the fire consuming his body burned even hotter. All the breath in his lungs escaped him, and the thought of drawing in another one and continuing to live seemed impossible for one drawn out, strangely blissful moment.

Changbin could barely make out Minho’s irises, yet in the glint in his pupils he found reassurance. There was wisdom in his eyes, there was knowledge. There was the promise that if there were any arms worth dying in, they belonged to Minho.

He believed; when he felt them just then; he believed that it was okay for him to die. To never breathe again.

His lungs burned until they forced him to keep living and draw another breath in. Minho’s eyes didn’t shift, didn’t change, but deep in Changbin’s chest he believed that he had disappointed Minho; that he was waiting for him to give in, the constrictor waiting for its prey to finally give up its struggle to breathe. In his desperation, he used his arms around Minho’s waist to pull him down, pull him closer, and push his hips up at the same time, trying to please him; trying to make up for his transgression - he still needed to breathe that _fraction_ more than he needed Minho. Still held onto life with the very tips of his fingers.

But now. Now the movement of their bodies wasn’t just a slow, methodical rock; a languid, steady journey to an inevitable conclusion. Now Changbin let his desperation show in how tightly he held onto Minho, let the slap of skin on skin speak of the gasping breaths he didn’t dare to take without his permission. He wanted to hide his face in Minho’s chest, drown himself in hot skin and frankincense, but Minho dug his fingers into his jaw even tighter, his dark eyes even darker now. Deeper. Wider. Growing more and more inescapable as Changbin brought himself close and closer to the edge.

Minho’s face came even closer, and their lips brushed together again - Minho’s were burning again, so hot they were painful to the touch, like his mouth was full of embers.

“Tell me. Remember you have to tell me when.”

Changbin nodded, incapable of speaking with how little air there was left in his lungs, with how icy his skin felt, with how hard he was shaking with desperation and pleasure.

The conclusion was coming. All that this was building up to. He couldn’t falter now. He couldn’t disappoint Minho. Minho, the snake and the apple, his priest; Minho, with ash on his breath and the vastness of space in his eyes. Minho. Minho.

“ _Minho_ .” He could feel it overtaking him; the euphoria, like his soul was detaching from his body. “ _Now. Please_.”

Minho smiled, and moved forward to connect their lips. Finally, Changbin got to grant his own wish, complete the circle as the last shred of warmth in his body left him, spilling into Minho’s insides, feeling hot blood that tasted like ash and iron in his own mouth.

He heard Minho’s pained sound, on the edge between a cry and a moan, he saw the blade glint from the corner of his eye, yet he obeyed - he didn’t look away. He looked at Minho’s eyes, and Minho’s eyes only. Watched the light hitting the blade reflect in them as it dug into Changbin’s throat. Watched Minho pull away from his embrace, his lips smeared with blood, his eyes, impossibly, almost as red as his mouth as he watched Changbin’s lifeblood gush from the wound he’d just made, watched him choke on it.

Slowly, he helped Changbin lie down, as he choked, drowning in his own blood, desperate in a new way. He couldn’t; he wouldn’t; the part of his brain he couldn’t turn off, the primal one, begged to be saved, but the part of him that chose this, part that felt faith and desire in equal measure when it looked at Minho, knew that he was not going to let him falter in his final moments. Minho would make sure he would stay true to his faith until the end.

Minho, Minho, _Minho._

Minho, who drew his fingers through the blood pooling in the dip between his collarbones, brought it up to his own lips so he could suck it off of them.

Minho, who dipped his fingers in the pallette Changbin’s body provided for him again, who drew sigils on his chest that he only registered with a fading consciousness.

Vaguely, as he struggled to keep his eyes open, he recognized that they were similar to the sigil they were in together right now.

He trusted Minho to know what it meant. What it would bring. What Changbin was giving his blood to summon.

He trusted Minho. He believed in Minho. His faith, his temptation, his death.

Above him, Minho chanted words in a language he did not recognize, but there was only one prayer on Changbin’s mind as he slipped off into the darkness, and it went,

Minho,

Minho,

_Minho._

**Author's Note:**

> The Chan-as-Yog-Sothoth sequel coming soon.


End file.
